


Your Fat Cherry Lips

by zelda_zee



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-17
Updated: 2009-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, it's just about Misha's mouth. And Jensen's. But mostly Misha's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Fat Cherry Lips

Jensen’s got a thing for Misha’s mouth, for those fat, plush, pillowy lips. He finds his attention gravitating to them when Misha talks, has to make a concerted effort to keep his eyes on Misha’s. It’s hard though, because Misha’s mouth is so expressive – it quirks in half-smiles and smirks, purses in thought, it widens easily into a full-out, slightly goofy grin that Jensen's become addicted to. And it’s so big – it takes up so much of his face and it’s just lucky for Misha that he’s got a strong, straight nose and those big, blue eyes to balance it or else he’d look like a total freak. In fact, sometimes Jensen thinks Misha’s mouth is a little freaky anyway, or at least that’s what he tells himself when he’s let himself stare at it for too long and is trying to convince himself that Misha’s mouth isn’t as goddamned fucking sexy as Jensen’s dick seems to think it is.

It’s easier when they’re working – when Misha’s Castiel – because Castiel is much more restrained than Misha is and Jensen finds it takes less effort to keep his gaze where it’s supposed to be. Plus, despite what the fangirls might think, Dean wouldn’t be as fascinated with Castiel’s mouth as Jensen is with Misha’s. Being in character, Jensen finds, can be quite a relief.

It’s ironic that he’s got a thing for Misha’s mouth, because he gets plenty of that himself. He’s used to it by now and it's no big deal - probably just the same as how a woman with a really great rack gets used to guys staring at it. Jensen’s used to people staring at his mouth, saying things about his mouth, being obsessed with his mouth. It’s predictable and he mostly just ignores it. He feels like kind of a jerk for treating Misha that way – the guy’s too nice for Jensen to be able to objectify him without feeling guilty – and Jensen can only hope he doesn’t notice.

Jensen knows that people say he’s got ‘cocksucking lips’ – he’s heard it more times than he can remember – from girls, from guys, it doesn’t seem to matter, everyone has the same reaction. Misha’s lips though… Jensen doesn’t think of them as ‘cocksucking lips’ – he thinks of them as ‘kissing lips’.

Not that he’d mind seeing Misha’s lips stretched around his cock. Christ, no, in fact Misha – on his knees, looking up at Jensen out of those incredible blue eyes, all flushed and disheveled, hair messy and tousled and just begging for Jensen’s fingers to grab onto it, and that wide, plump-lipped mouth open around Jensen’s cock – uh, yeah, that’d have to be one of Jensen’s favorite fantasies these days.

But still, when Jensen looks at Misha’s mouth, he thinks kissing before he thinks cocksucking. That's because Misha’s lips always look like they’ve just been kissed – like someone has kissed Misha very thoroughly and very well, for a very long time. Jensen thinks that if anyone is going to kiss Misha for a very long time, it should be him, which maybe proves that he’s turning into a girl. Because even though he'd love some cocksucking - and he really would – somehow the image that sticks in his mind is of Misha’s lips parting in anticipation in the second before Jensen kisses them, and then that first light touch, warm and soft and a whisper of breath against his skin, and then Jensen would fit his lips over Misha’s, over those full, fat, pretty lips and it would be perfect.

Jensen wonders if Misha’s lips would feel different. Jensen’s kissed a lot of people with a lot of different shapes and sizes of lips, but Misha’s are kind of unique. He thinks they’d have to feel different. Bigger. Softer. More. Better.

When he kisses Misha for real, not just in one of his fantasies, it’s a total accident - honest it is. They're just standing outside in the cool, dark night sharing a smoke, because Jensen smokes when he drinks and Misha doesn't only for some reason tonight he does, and you can't smoke in the bars in Vancouver.

It’s not even Jensen’s fault, because Misha’s been torturing him all night long by making his mouth do all these amazing things that drive Jensen crazy – like form words and laugh and grin - and by the time Jensen’s had three or four shots of tequila he thinks it isn’t fair that he has to watch Misha wrap those lips around the mouth of a beer bottle and suck on a lime after his tequila shot and yet he's not supposed to have any reaction to it. Because he’s only human, after all, and there’s only so much he can take.

So they’re both a little drunk and they’re giggling and smiling right up until the instant Jensen crowds Misha up against the wall of the alley behind the bar and leans in, his eyes focused intently on Misha’s lips, noting every little detail, cataloging them and filing them away in case he never gets this close to Misha again; the way Misha has to look up because Jensen is just that little bit taller; the way Misha’s breath blows softly against his chin, smelling of lime and tequila; the way his lips part slightly on a quick inhale, gleam of white teeth flashing in the dim light as he gasps when Jensen’s hand splays over the side of his face, fingers combing into the hair at his temple, thumb beneath his jaw, tilting his head up farther. Jensen notes the gentle pout of Misha’s lower lip, the gracefully rounded contour, the color – pale pink like a freakin’ rose, of all ridiculous things. He takes in the perfectly-shaped upper lip, so thick and full that Jensen aches to suck on it, to see what it tastes like – looks like it’d taste sweet, like frosting or candy, like ripe fruit. Jensen caresses Misha’s mouth with a single finger, traces the outline of it, insinuates his finger just inside. There’s a quick, warm flick of tongue, a nip of teeth. Jensen gently drags Misha’s bottom lip down then lifts his hand away and Misha’s tongue wets his lip, then his teeth dig in, right where Jensen had touched him.

Jensen tears his gaze away from Misha’s mouth – that mouth that has been obsessing him for weeks – and meets Misha’s eyes, wide open and surprised and deceptively innocent-looking. It has to be a deception, right? Nobody gets to the ripe old age of thirty-four in Hollywood with their innocence intact. Misha just has that look, the guy can’t help it – sweet and innocent – and it makes Jensen itch to corrupt him, makes him want to do things to Misha – bad things, nasty things, things that would feel so _good_.

“Jensen?” Misha says, corner of his mouth quirking into a little smile that belies his questioning tone. Because Misha knows what's going on; it's that tiny quirk of his lip that gives him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

And that’s another thing – Misha’s voice, all deep and raspy like that. Misha’s voice sounds the way people’s voices get when they’re having sex, when arousal tightens their vocal chords and makes them hoarse. Misha sounds like that all the time. It makes Jensen wonder what Misha might sound like when he’s aroused. How much deeper, how much raspier would his voice get?

Jensen digs his thumb into the soft flesh beneath Misha’s chin. He tips his head down, brushes his lips over Misha’s, a light, tickling touch that makes his lips tingle, makes a shock ricochet up his spine, makes him need to do it again.

“Should’ve done this weeks ago,” Jensen mumbles. He rubs his lips over Misha’s stubbled cheek to his ear. “Driving me crazy,” he whispers. Misha’s breath hitches, hands fluttering against Jensen’s chest, then down his sides before tightening on his waist, just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Jensen,” Misha sighs, and Jensen’s not sure if it’s encouragement or warning, but he’s not backing off. He nuzzles Misha’s neck, feels his pulse beating crazy-fast beneath the skin. Misha’s fingers squeeze, pull Jensen in so they’re pressed together from knees to hips. Jensen makes a noise in his throat, rocks his pelvis forward before he can even think through whether he should do that. It’s instinct, pure and simple, just like it’s instinct to do it again because it feels so damn good and because Misha doesn’t say no, doesn’t pull away. He just breathes, sharp and quick in Jensen’s ear, and his fingernails dig into Jensen’s sides and his hips push forward. Jensen can feel the solidity of Misha's hardening dick and he wonders if Misha has been wanting this, because if he has, Jensen had no idea. If he'd suspected he had a chance he sure as hell would have made a move before now.

He braces one hand on the wall, looks into Misha’s face. He looks flushed already, eyes dark and heavy, and his lips – his lips –

“Your mouth,” Jensen whispers roughly. “Jesus, your fucking mouth.”

“You like my mouth?” Misha asks, and he smiles.

Jensen groans, can’t find any words to answer, can’t imagine that there _are_ words that could adequately describe exactly the degree to which he does, in fact, “like” Misha’s mouth.

So he doesn’t try at all, he just crushes Misha’s lips hard beneath his. Misha jerks like maybe he wasn’t expecting it, though it must have been pretty obvious what Jensen had in mind. Maybe he wasn’t quite prepared for the force of the kiss, because Jensen can’t find it in him to be slow and gentle, though god, he’d really like to and he hopes that maybe someday he’ll get the chance. But right now he just fucking can’t.

He slides his hand around to the back of Misha’s head and holds him because otherwise his head would be rammed back against the brick wall and that just wouldn’t be polite. So his hand’s cupping the back of Misha’s skull, which is nice, because it gives Jensen some control, or at least the illusion of it, for the plain fact is Jensen’s not in control of anything at the moment, least of all himself. Misha’s mouth is open, had opened the second Jensen’s lips touched his, and Jensen’s tongue is inside it and it’s hot and wet and velvety and Jensen can’t get enough. Misha's making this little noise, a soft, hungry whine, and it makes Jensen’s cock go from stiff to hard as diamonds with a swift, downward rush that leaves him dizzy. Misha slides his tongue along Jensen’s, pushes and rubs and sucks at it and Jensen growls, shoves Misha back against the wall, gets one hand behind Misha’s ass, tilts his hips forward and grinds. He sets up a fast, dirty rhythm, his cock sliding and rubbing and mashing against Misha's, and Misha’s hands move around to Jensen’s ass and slip under his waistband, under his boxers, right down over bare skin, and they grip and clutch and knead and Misha moans into Jensen’s mouth and that’s when the kiss gets really sloppy.

Misha nips at Jensen’s lips and Jensen takes that fat upper lip of Misha’s and sucks on it, running his tongue over it as he does and _damn_ if he doesn’t taste something sweet - sugary and fruity like cherry pie. Jensen knows it’s all in his head, but he _does not care_. No, he does not, because he, like Dean, has a serious weakness for cherry pie and cherries are red and plump and round and soft and luscious and it makes perfect sense to him, at this moment, that that’s what Misha’s lips would taste like.

Misha’s moaning, low and deep, and the sound sends a sizzle of electricity straight to Jensen’s cock.

“Say something,” he demands, wanting to hear what Misha’s voice sounds like now.

Heavy lids open reluctantly, lashes fluttering, and Misha looks at Jensen out of eyes so blown that Jensen can barely see the blue.

“Kiss me.”

It’s a hoarse, carnal growl and it sounds like pure sex to Jensen’s ears and he wants to hear more, but he doesn’t get the chance, because Misha surges up, ravenous, tongue plunging deep, fucking into Jensen’s mouth. It’s lewd and filthy and scorching hot and Jensen shudders hard, feels his dick spit a gob of wetness into his shorts and _fuckfuckfuck_ there is no way he’s coming in his pants, though with the way Misha’s insistently, determinedly humping his thigh maybe he’s got no such reservations.

Jensen gets a hand between them, tries to get Misha’s belt unbuckled, can’t quite manage it at the same time that Misha’s voraciously sucking on Jensen’s tongue. He wrenches his mouth away, panting hard, and Misha whimpers and tries to pull him back in for more.

Jensen works fast because, _Christ_ , he’s burning up and he _needs_ this to happen, right fucking now. Thank god, once Misha catches on he helps out and it’s just a minute before their pants are unzipped and Jensen pushes their shirts up and out of the way and they’ve got their hands on each other’s dicks, knuckles bumping as they stroke, groaning into each other’s mouths as they try, without much success, to muster enough coordination to kiss again.

Misha’s uncut and Jensen's not really used to that, but hell, it just means there's even more to play with. He watches his hand move on Misha's cock, pulls down to expose the head and rubs his thumb over the leaking slit. Misha bucks, hips snapping forward, groans, “Oh _fuck_.” He draws in a deep, shivery breath, head falling back and thrusts hard into Jensen’s fist, then grips Jensen tight and strokes, fast and just rough enough that Jensen realizes he’s going to come embarrassingly fast.

He presses his face into Misha’s neck, sucks up a mouthful of salty flesh. Misha’s hand falters on Jensen’s dick and he cries out, twists his hips desperately. Jensen bites, sucks, licks and Misha totally fucking loses it.

“ _Jen_. Oh fuck. _JenJenJenJen_.” Misha’s never called him that before, but he pants it, gasps it, like he can’t say anything else, like it’s the only word he knows.

His cock swells and stiffens impossibly in Jensen’s hand, convulses in his grip and Misha groans loud, too loud, but Jensen doesn’t give a damn because it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever heard. He pumps Misha’s cock, avidly watching as it spurts milky white ropes that land warm on the back of his hand and paint streaks across his belly.

Misha lets go of Jensen's cock long enough to swipe his hand through the mess on Jensen's stomach and then his fist encircles him again, only now it's wet and slick and twice as good. Jensen tries to bite back his breathless, broken-sounding gasps, but they push out and all he can do is let them and let go. His head snaps back and his eyes squeeze shut and his muscles seize up as it hits him, a blissful rush that claims his entire body, heat and pleasure blasting through him and all he can do is shudder and shake and come and come and come.

He collapses onto Misha, who wraps his arms around him, one sticky hand on the small of his back, the other hand brushing soothingly up and down his spine. Jensen can’t move because if he does he’s afraid he'll just topple over, so he stays still, tries to catch his breath. He can feel Misha’s heart pounding against his chest and the little tremors that shake him every minute or so and it’s nice, really, really nice. Jensen just sinks into it, lets his mind go blank and they stay like that until he becomes conscious of the cool night air on his skin and the mess drying on their stomachs and that his hand is still wrapped around Misha’s softened cock. He pries it free carefully, because his palm is kind of glued to Misha's foreskin and wow, that's pretty gross and also uncomfortable, to judge by the way Misha winces.

Misha huffs a laugh, warm breath cooling the sweat on Jensen’s neck. He leans back against the wall and looks at Jensen dazedly out of half-closed eyes. He’s flushed all over and his hair is standing up in spikes and there’s a thin sheen of perspiration that makes him seem to glow and his lips are fucking _gorgeous_ , thick and puffy and reddened and wet and so damn sexy that Jensen’s dick gives a painful but hopeful twitch.

“So,” Misha says and Jensen tears his gaze from Misha’s kiss-swollen lips to look in his eyes. “This is all because of my mouth?”

“Uh. Um,” Jensen states intelligently. Jesus, maybe some of his brains shot out his dick when he came, because he can’t seem to remember how to speak.

“I only ask because… well…” Misha smiles coyly, bites his lip, the fucker. Jensen thinks now that Misha knows, he’s going to torment him constantly. Misha’s not above that. The sweet and innocent thing is _such_ an act. “I’ve kind of had a – a _thing_ about _your_ mouth.”

“Have you?” Jensen manages.

Misha’s staring at his lips, and Jensen realizes that they're probably just as thick and puffy-looking as Misha’s. He suddenly can feel how full they are, sensitive and tingly and a little sore. He leans in and presses them to Misha’s and they both moan and then he feels Misha’s lips curve into a smile and that makes Jensen want to kiss him until neither one of them can think straight.

And he knows that there’s no way in hell that Misha’s as obsessed with his mouth as he is with Misha’s, because that is simply Not Humanly Possible. But still, he muses as he and Misha trade slow, lazy, sex-drunk kisses, there’s nothing wrong with a little mutual admiration. In fact, Jensen thinks, this could work out quite well for both of them.

 


End file.
